


diminuendo

by cqstiel (dcnovan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Whump, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied Alastair/Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Post-Hell Dean, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcnovan/pseuds/cqstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dean is sick, dean is a sickness.</p><p>there are two sides to every story.</p><p>-</p><p>this is what it feels like:</p>
            </blockquote>





	diminuendo

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for suicide/thoughts of suicide, depression and PTSD. Please stay away and take care of yourself.
> 
> This fic was born out of my incredible anger at the writers for essentially ignoring the mental repurcussions that Hell was going to have on Dean. It pissed me off so I wrote this, because why would Dean be perfectly fine after that ordeal? And also because Dean and Alastair's relationship is one of my favourites on the show and I love it so much. 
> 
> Thanks to my darling, Haijing, for beta-ing this. You were distracted but I think you did an okay job.

_diminuendo_

//

dean ends up in indiana, an endless expanse of fading stars above him and a bottle of jack daniel's in the passenger seat. it makes for poor conversation. he kinda wishes that he brought sam, but the bottle doesn't ask questions when he talks about the empty pit in his stomach.

it doesn't fill it like it used to, either, but dean will take what he can get.

the highway isn't empty, so he turns off onto a side road and steers Baby around the largest potholes. nice countryside, he thinks aloud. checks his phone. 2:18am.

he's getting old.

he pulls over beside a wilting tree, takes one look at the bottle, and throws up out of the window as a wave of nausea overcomes him. it leaves him gasping and his stomach heaving, and he wishes for water to wash out the bitterness on his tongue and mind. he pulls open the door and stumbles out, barely missing his own puke, trying to find a name for what he's feeling.

he'd read a pamphlet once, years ago, on it. it said to beat your demons, but dean has swallowed holy water and salt and thrown it all up. it's done nothing to beat the black smoke in his veins that dean was certain were demons, but now he's not so sure. 

dean pulls himself with difficulty onto the trunk. he's got no alcohol in his system, but his hands are shaking and he feels sluggish and heavy, but also frail. he leans back onto the roof, and winces when the cold seeps from the metal, past his shirts, into his paper-thin skin. a shiver wracks his body and a wet cough claws its way up his throat.

dean looks up at the night sky. although he feels cold and hollow, he appreciates the winking stars and black backdrop. he doesn't know when he got so sappy, but it would be kinda poetic to put a bullet through his brain while gazing up upon the raw beauty above and around him - minus the vomit outside the impala's door.

but then dean thinks of his body rotting on top of his Baby's roof, and the fading stars, and sam wondering where the hell he is, and then he can't even muster the strength to pull his gun from his jeans. somehow, though, he makes it back to illinois before sam wakes up and without coughing up bile every time he sees the amber liquid taking his brother's place.

//

dean stumbles through the door at 5:39am, thanking god and angels and anything that will listen that sam is still asleep. he fumbles through the buttons on his shirt and strips to his boxers, climbing into his bed. it's uncomfortably hot.

he pushes down the covers and falls asleep, but wakes up ten minutes later, shivering, his teeth clattering hard enough to wake the dead.

 _bad wording_ , dean chides himself blearily as flashes of blood and bone and screaming fill his brain. he turns and the clock is made of finger bones. he turns and the ceiling fan is made of sinew. he turns and sam is a bloody skeleton. 

he dives under the covers and shivers. alone.

//

when dean next wakes up, sam is hovering over him anxiously, and there's a cool, wet weight on his forehead.

"you're rocking a one-oh-four, dean," sam says immediately, but it's slurred and dean can't hear him properly. "where the hell did this come from?"

dean blinks blearily, and he can practically see sam's stomach lurch. "dunno, s'mmy, but 'm fine." sam's face twists, and alastair is staring down at him, lips curled in a sneer.

 _my good little student_ , alastair croons, and a demon claw comes down to rest on his cheek. dean jerks away.

sam cocks his head, like he's expecting some kind of answer. his hand is on dean's cheek and his face is screwed up in concern.

"hmm?" dean asks. the cloth, once comfortable, is much too cold and is sending shivers down his body. sam throws another blanket on and tucks it under dean's chin.

"shh," sam soothes, removing the cloth and picking up a cup of water. dean stares at the ceiling, unresponsive.

"s'mmy," he mutters. "s'mmy, s'mmy." he shivers violently.

"right here, dean," sam replies. "you need to drink some water, okay?"

dean is lock-jawed, trembling, and sam gently parts his brother's lips, tipping some water in and massaging dean's throat until he swallows. tiny droplets splatter on dean's chest, a result of his shaking.

he brings it back up a few minutes later, sticky with bile, and falls into a fitful sleep that lasts about fifteen minutes.

//

sam has threatened dean with the hospital a few times in the past hour, and dean can't do anything but shake his already-shaking head at his brother fervently. sam massages water down dean's throat, and adds and takes away blankets without complaint, and dean feels like a terrible older brother.

dean tells himself that it's the fever causing him hallucinations, but every time alastair runs a bloodstained hand through dean's hair, or bites away his lower lip, dean feels it and he's back in hell. alastair digs a nail into a black-red hole on dean's left shoulder, frowning when he feels the handprint.

 _already replaced me, huh?_ alastair asks, his breath hot on dean's ruined lips. _well, that's to be expected, you needy, useless little -_  

cas isn't answering sam's prayers, and dean is kind of grateful, because he doesn't want any more help that he doesn't deserve. 

 _maybe,_ dean wonders through the fever haze, _if i just lay here and don't do anything, i'll die._ it's cleaner, he decides, than the bullet and the stars and his abandoned car with his festering body on top. he's made up his mind when alastair appears again. 

_you'd do that to sam, would you? in all your selfishness, you would let your little brother believe that it was his fault you were dead? i knew there was always a little selfish, wicked seed in you, mr winchester. i'm proud._

dean chokes and shivers and grits his way through the worst of the fever, a patient sam by his side, and when alastair disappears, dean knows this wasn't the last time.

he'll be back tomorrow, bright and early, monday morning. like he always is.

//

dean's still in bed a day later, weakened and irritated. sam has left to get some medicine - dean finished it off during his fever - and groceries. he tells dean to _stay in bed and don't move otherwise i will kick your ass into next week._

dean wants to do as sam says, he really does, but he doesn't need  to. he needs a shower, as he seems to have sweated out his own mass during the fever. when he pushes down the blankets, the air hits him like a freight train, and he chokes in a pained, relieved gasp.

he stumbles to the bathroom and shuts the door, collapsing onto the toilet seat. he feels weirdly numb, and wonders if this is a side-effect of the fever. he stares down at his toes and slowly begins to flex them. it's a small movement that takes more effort than it should. he sees them moving, but he doesn't feel it anymore.

dean pulls off his boxers in around a minute, steps toward the shower and catches alastair's eye in the mirror. he turns and the shower head is made of a femur. he turns and the towel rail is made of stretched bodies on the wrack. he turns and it's not water that doesn't splash when it hits the tiles, thick and red and terrifying.

dean can't find it within him to be terrified. he blinks slowly and steps into the shower. blood runs over his body and dean wouldn't have it any other way. make the outside match the inside, he thinks. he's heaven's bloodstained righteous man.

he still feels numb. he flexes his fingers and it takes more effort than it should. he sees them moving, but he doesn't feel it anymore. the water-blood isn't hot enough. he turns it up all the way, but the motel has temperature control and it doesn't blister his skin like he wanted. it stings a little, though, and dean is grateful. he ducks into the spray, the sound of liquid hitting tile pounding in his ears, and doesn't realise that sam is back until the bathroom door slams open.

 _should've locked it,_ dean berates himself wearily as sam pulls back the curtain.

"dean, what the - holy crap, dude, that's burning!" sam hisses like a demon under holy water when he feels the shower spray. "get out!"

dean can't find it in himself to move, and he feels sam grab his shoulders and manoeuvre him out of the shower cubicle. the floor around them is puddled and the mirror is amazon-fogged. dean breathes around the sticky air in his lungs and lets sam rub him down gently with the towel, soothing the reddened skin. dean can feel himself going numb again.

sam towels off dean's hair and looks down at him with a softness dean doesn't deserve. he helps dean pull on fresh boxers and a t-shirt and gives him more water.

sam pulls him back to bed and tucks him in, looking for a second like he wants to kiss dean's forehead or something, but he settles for squeezing his shoulder. dean wonders if it takes more effort than it should. 

he sees sam do it, but he doesn't feel it anymore.

//

the numbness is all-consuming.

dean's back into hunting now, because he told sam he was better and sam grudgingly let him. they're dealing with a rawhead in south detroit, and dean finally feels something when the monster claws his arm. they're dealing with a vampire in new york, and dean lets it have a drink for a while, if only to feel the pain. he's dealing with an angry sam in oregon, and he hopes and prays for the punch that never comes. he's dealing with ruby, and dean doesn't care about pain this time, because he feels enough when he realises that it's his fault.

they drop in on bobby to see how the seals are going, and dean goes to bed late and tries not to breathe too much.

//

"dean."

dean doesn't jump. he opens his eyes blearily and can see the angel staring at him, bright blue eyes gleaming.

"aren't you supposed to be in heaven doing god's will, or whatever?" dean mumbles, pulling the covers over his head. he can picture castiel's cocked head, and the angel's voice is still clear through the blankets.

"sam is concerned," castiel states, and dean groans, burying his face in the pillow. he was asleep a few seconds ago, and didn't have to deal with his unfeeling body.

"cas, just - please. please."

dean's pleading and pathetic and he hates it, but castiel blinks once and is gone, in a flutter of wings, a kind of eerie 'i'll be back'.

dean shuts his eyes and hell bleeds red across the lids.

//

"eat, boy."

dean starts as a plate is dumped on the table in front of him, bobby glowering down at him. he eyes the food suspiciously.

"bobby-"

"eat!"

dean takes a cautious bite. it tastes muted, like the flavours have been lessened. he's not very hungry. bobby raises his eyebrows, so dean takes another bite.

"you've been overworkin' yerself, dean. sam says you've been gettin'... distracted on hunts."

dean rubs at the vampire scars on his neck. "i got hurt. thanks for your concern, but it's in the job description."

bobby snorts. "you ain't got beaten by a vamp for 'n age. what's goin' on?"

dean glares at the sandwich in front of him. "i didn't get beaten. we wasted the thing, i got a few bruises. and, as for what's going on, it's the end of the world, bobby."

dean turns back to his book and mentally crosses off another seal. when bobby comes back, the sandwich is still there and dean is gone.

//

dean wanders out of bobby's house and into the yard, stumbling into the cars occasionally. there's a wind whistling in the trees, but it's too loud and it makes dean wince. he leans heavily against an old ford, breathing deeply, inhaling the stench of hell that rises from his clothes, digging his nails into his palms until they draw blood.

dean squeezes the fists, eyeing the meagre beads of red that bubble up beneath the cuts. a moan rises in his throat like the blood trickling down his palms, and he slams a hand against the ford, stumbling away.

he runs clumsily through the mismatched cars, alastair watching him through the windows. he runs, scraping his knees when he falls and his hands when he pulls himself up. he runs, and his breath is constricted in his lungs. he runs until he collapses on the ground, his legs giving out, and the way his breath is cold and grating in his throat feels like coming home. he can feel the ache of his muscles, and he smiles crookedly up at the rusty sky, the pain like a beacon - I am alive (almost).

(not quite.)

he lies there until the pain is snatched away by his numbness, and then he gets up on unstable legs, breaking into a shaky run that he can't keep up. he slows to a stop, cursing his body for betraying him, looking around at the maze of vehicles. he knows his way back to the house - he knows this place like the back of his hand - but he doesn't think he can face sam, stand before him like a zombie, feel the scream rising up in him as the numbness and the pain that comes with it rise again.

_i'm dead, sam! don't you get it? i'll never be alive, man, ever._

he whispers it to the darkening sky, and the car skeletons, and the whisper-scream wind. he swallows it afterwards, clamping a hand to his throat and holding it there. it's reminiscent of the years he spent in hell, with alastair's hands bruising fingerprints onto his adam's apple, choking away dean's screams.

//

dean wakes up on hard-baked dirt. there's a hand underneath his knees and his head is nestled in the crook of someone's neck, and he knows without looking that it's alastair. he paws at the demon's chest weakly, trying to pull away from the arms holding him and letting out a soft whine.

"shh, dean."

it's sam's voice, and sam's face, and sam's arms holding him, but it's not sam, dean is sure. there's a flutter of wings, and castiel's low voice rumbles its way through dean's head. he doesn't understand what the angel is saying, but he doesn't care anymore. he presses his forehead against not-sam's neck and passes out again.

//

dean wakes up again on a bed made of muscle tissue. castiel is sitting at the end of it, watching dean with something akin to caution. his irises are red.

"you were in hell, dean," castiel says finally, and dean can't find the energy to reply with a snappy comeback. the angel looks at dean deeper, face open, about as comforting as a celestial being with demonic eyes can look. "there's bound to be repercussions. i apologise for my inability to aid you."

dean's fingers are numb. "can you put me to sleep?" his voice is hoarse and scratchy. the numbness is inching further across his body. castiels lips twitch in a sad smile, blood trickling down his chin and from his eyes. he leans over dean and presses two long, black claws to dean's forehead with surprising gentleness.

dean's eyes slip shut and cas leaves his fingers there, considering. dean's skin is soft, and not too hot against castiel's vessel's. he sighs and turns away, making his way downstairs.

sam and bobby sit in the living room, hiding anxiety between books and talking in hushed tones. they haven't noticed castiel yet. he takes a seat on a chair left against the wall. sam hears him and turns around.

"so?" the younger winchester asks. castiel considers the man whom he hasn't quite begun to trust, perhaps due to the fact that he's working with a demon. he has an undeniable care for dean, though, and a kind soul, so castiel relents.

"so," castiel mimics, "dean is fine in all aspects of physical health."

"not really what i was worried about," sam mutters under his breath. castiel ignores it, puts it off to stress, and continues.

“he’s very unwell. i worry about him.”

"well, dean ain't headin' to therapy, that's for sure," bobby mutters. castiel looks out the window. "what do we do?"

castiel remains impassive. "reduce triggers. that's all you can do for now. it may make him more comfortable. avoid talking about anything related to hell unless dean brings it up."

sam glances down at the book he was reading for information on the seals. he grimaces. this makes things ten times harder.

"sam?"

sam looks up at cas, who eyes him meaningfully. "anything hell related. keep that demon away."

sam's stomach lurches. "but-"

castiel's eyes flash a darker blue and a shadow of a wing flickers on the wall. he fleetingly resembles the huge, powerful warrior he really is, before, in a flutter, he's gone.

//

sam and castiel are sick and dean is the tumour.

he can see himself growing and spreading and choking behind their eyes, slowly, thickly stealing their breath. he can feel each throb of their pulse when they walk in the room, the way it withers and dies at the sight of him, the way his fingers positively itch for a knife, the need to have a blade between his hands, to cut and tear and ruin at anything he can find, be it his wrists or bobby's neck.

the feeling overwhelms him so much that he lies paralysed, barely moving. he can feel his muscles shrivel, and alastair's breath ghost across the back of his neck, teeth and blood. dean's hands form claws and dig into the muscle-mattress, and now that he can finally feel, he wants the numbness back.

 _she gives me everything_ , alastair sings hoarsely, perching on the end of dean's bed, drawing patterns on the covers. _and tenderly. the kiss my lover brings, she brings to me. i love her_. alastair grins and brushes his thumb over dean's cheek before smoking out of the room. his vessel disappears in a black, oily smudge, following. dean closes his eyes and vaguely wonders when the demon learnt that song.

when dean opens his eyes sam is perched where alastair was. he smiles at dean softly, concern creasing his features. his hand is on dean's ankle.

"do you want something to eat?" he asks, and dean blinks down at him. the thought of food makes his stomach fold in on itself, and dean shakes his head, nosing into the pillow. he breathes deeply, shoving his hands beneath his body to stop the need for blood.

"this isn't a question anymore, dean," sam says sharply. dean imagines fashioning the words into a blade and sliding it across his throat. maybe sam's. 

it brings back memories of sam in hell, dean cutting the little one's tongue to stop his chattering, digging out his eyes to hide the puppy-dog look. he promised himself never again.

dean hopes and prays that one day, when he's out of his own shadow, maybe he'll believe it. 

//

sam's fingers drum on the steering wheel impatiently. a car pulls up in front of him and ruby climbs out, slamming her door shut and folding her arms as she leans against it. sam mutters under his breath and mimics her.

ruby's boots crunch the gravel as she strides over to him, the sound like breaking bones. her expression is stormy as she gazes up at sam.

"i don't see why we had to meet out here," she says, her leather jacket squeaking as her arms unfold. "what's wrong with a motel?"

sam sighs and stuffs his twitching hands into his pockets. "we're staying at bobby's, and unless you want an angel on your back, we're meeting here."

ruby snorts. "sammy, sammy, i have to say, it's amusing that you're friends with an angel and a demon."

"i wouldn't say i'm friends with either of you," sam says shortly. "and don't call me sammy."

ruby chuckles, lifting herself onto the roof of the old mitsubishi that sam is driving. "i heard about your bro," she says lightly, like it's not that big of a deal. it's easy to forget that demons have few feelings. they're good actors. sam stares at her.

"what? i didn't threaten anyone, nobody's dead - _what_. you're no use to me grieving. sam, seriously, sometimes i do want to help." she places the bottle on the roof of the car, clicking the heels of her boots. "i may have a strained relationship with dean, but you, my friend -"

"i'm not your friend," sam says through gritted teeth, and ruby laughs, her eyes flashing black.

"whatever you say, sammy."

sam's hands twitch towards the bottle and he hates this dependence that he has on the blood. he keeps his hands in his pockets and looks at ruby with narrowed eyes.

"why would you want to help dean?" sam says lowly, and ruby looks at him in that way of hers that makes him feel stupid.

"your brother's not speaking, yeah?" she says, drawing patterns on the car bonnet. "well, get him to. if you want him better, that is."

sam's expression hardens. "castiel said not to. he said that one day dean will talk, and we have to wait until he's comfortable."

"well, that's trash," ruby decides. "and i reckon that you should just leave him at bobby's and come with me -"

"what the hell, ruby?!" sam says angrily, snapping to attention. "i'm not just gonna leave him here!"

ruby's shaking her head and sam quietens down. she smiles condescendingly at him. "you know he's not gonna let you come with me to kill lillith, and that's the only way this whole thing ends and lucifer stays trapped in his cage. so, do it while he's outta the picture. it's a good plan, sam, don't let your brother cloud your vision." she tilts a head toward the bottle on the car roof. "i give you what you want, i always come when you call. has anyone but _dean_ done that for you?"

her words sting, and sam glares at her, snatching the bottle from the roof and climbing into the car. ruby taps his window and he rolls it down a crack.

"you're welcome."

sam stares ahead and wishes for dean beside him.

//

dean stares ahead and wishes for sam beside him.

he blinks. no tears fall. aftermath of hell.

everything's quiet.

(this is what it's like to cut out your baby brother's tongue.) ten steps and then a sheer drop.

(this is what it's like to make an innocent soul scream.) they reel him out and cut the sinew string.

(this is what it's like to lose.) he sinks.

//

dean wishes for indiana, an endless expanse of fading stars above him, and the gun in his hand, and the bullet through his brain. but he'll take what he can get.


End file.
